


Love, Love, and So On

by SumthinClever



Series: Drarropoly 2020 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Break Up, M/M, Pining, Time Skips, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumthinClever/pseuds/SumthinClever
Summary: Harry and Draco have a good relationship, until they don't.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Drarropoly 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033458
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57
Collections: Drarropoly '20: Founders Edition, Wireless Festive Minifest 2020





	Love, Love, and So On

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the idea of doing a dual fest fic, because participation in Drarropoly has gotten me writing more than I have in ages and I also love a challenge. And when I found this song, sweet Jesus. @.@ The pain. The angst! The INSPIRATION! *.* 
> 
> Song Inspiration: "Every Year, Every Christmas" by Luther Vandross 
> 
> Inspiration for touchy/feely friends Drarry from “Another Heart Whispers Back” by slytherco. Brilliant fic. @.@  
> Fic title and opening quote are from Richard Siken’s “Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.” Brilliant poem. 
> 
> Infinite thanks to my alpha reader [crazybutgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazybutgood/profile) for helping me whip this into shape! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

_Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly_

_flames everywhere_

-Richard Siken

_December 25, 2013_

Harry stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, hunching his shoulders higher to ward off the chill of London on the late December evening. The stores are lined with Christmas decorations and carols joyfully play from several storefronts. There are people rushing to and fro to get in what late shopping they can before stores close. It was an early night for many shops; no one really wants to work on Christmas.

Harry glances up and down the street, on the lookout for Draco, as always. He tries to be inconspicuous. He doesn’t want to appear like he’s waiting for someone, lonely and desperate, even if he is. He rocks on his heels, creating movement, trying to generate more heat for himself despite the warming charm.

The shop owners who are consistently open this late are used to seeing him there, year after year. Sometimes, the girl from the coffee shop down the way comes and brings him a cuppa. He’s never told her his sad tale, but he reckons she’s pieced together enough of it for him to warrant her sympathy, or her pity.

This is where he’d met Draco again, all those years ago, long after the war and the flurry of changes in its immediate aftermath ended. Harry had wanted to get away from it all and relocated to muggle London. Draco had left the Manor with its ruin and its tainted halls and took himself likewise to muggle London, finding no welcome in the wizarding quarters.

They’d found amusement in it, eventually, during their years together. That Harry had run from his fame, and Draco had run from his scorn. And somehow, they’d run right into each other.

Harry brings his hands out of his pocket and rubs them together, casting another discrete wandless, wordless warming charm on himself. He checks his watch. It’s already been an hour. Harry will stay there at least another two, as long as their first meeting that Christmas had lasted. 

_December 25, 2006_

They don’t stay on that corner in the December air their entire time together. After the surprise of bumping into each other in muggle London of all places, they share awkward pleasantries and polite chit-chat for a few minutes. It’s Draco who breaks the stilted conversation in that dry, cutting way he has. They laugh, and the awkwardness vanishes, like a fog lifting.

They are long past hating each other simply because of who they are. The horrors of surviving a war have shown them who their true enemies are; a school rival doesn’t even compare. The next several minutes of conversation are considerably easier, and they laugh about how ridiculous it all was, before. Envy, pride, vanity, and an urge to prove oneself. How little it matters in the face of just trying to make it from one day to the next, the uncertainty of it all.

When they realize they can talk to each other for hours more, they make their way to the coffee shop down the way and have a cup and a much longer chat. Harry gets coffee, needing something stronger than tea to thaw his bones. Though, his company and conversation keep him as warm as the brew.

Three hours they sit, partly reminiscing on their shared past, but mostly talking about their new lives, how they’ve changed as people. How Harry has gotten out more, isn’t the recluse he’d been directly after the war. He’s given up his old dream of working for the Aurors, having had more than his fill with chasing and fighting Dark wizards. Now he works with his hands, tinkering with whatever strikes his fancy. He’s tried his hand at woodworking, glass blowing, jewellery making, and sword crafting. He isn’t terrible at any of them, but he also isn’t the brilliant artist he’d set out to be. Instead, he’s cluttered his house with knick-knacks and trinkets of varying intricacy and skill.

He keeps in touch with the wizarding world, still frequently visits the Weasley-Grangers and plays with their children. He meets up with his Gryffindor cohorts once a month or so for a pub crawl or a pickup Quidditch game. But he also has muggle friends now, people he’ll visit and watch telly with. Go with to concerts or the cinema. He’s careful about letting any of them visit his house, though—too many magical devices about. He lives a good life. Comfortable. Is wealthy enough to never need to work, but still sells his art here and there, just to feel like he’s doing something with it all.

Draco, on the other hand, has worked his way back into the wizarding world, never able to disconnect fully from the world of his birth and rearing. Instead of isolating himself as Harry had, he’s fumbled his way into the muggle world and absolutely _thrived_ here, despite his prejudiced upbringing. He did some intensive independent study and worked his way into university, majoring in chemistry, translating his Potions knowledge and applying it whenever he could. And it was applicable in a lot of ways, giving him an advantage over his peers and setting him apart and above. He admits that this recognition stroked the ego of his youth and created numerous opportunities for him, but he isn’t that illusioned boy anymore.

After he finished graduate school and became a respected chemist, he took his muggle respect and convinced the wizarding world to acknowledge it and let him pursue his Potions mastery; whereafter he became an _even more_ respected Potions master and made a reputation for brilliance that rivalled even that of Snape.

And yet still, he chose to live in the muggle world but work in both, using his chemistry and Potions skills to create brilliant potions and medicines that helped people from every walk of life. If he was famous for his name in his youth, second-handedly popular from respect or fear his father had earned, it didn’t stack up to what he’s earned by his own merits.

They talk and laugh for hours, until Draco notices the time and curses, saying he must dash as he’s promised to join his parents for Christmas dinner in less than an hour and he isn’t nearly ready. He shoots Harry such a soft, promising smile before he departs that Harry knows it won’t be their last meeting.

And it isn’t, not by a long shot. Little over a week later, right after the new year, Harry receives an owl from Draco asking if he’d like to meet up again at the coffee shop for brunch. Harry wonders if he’s too eager in accepting immediately. The coffee shop quickly becomes _their spot_ , with them meeting there at least once a week for an hour or more. They grow to be on a first-name basis with all the staff; their regular orders are known and delivered almost as soon as they sit down at their regular table in the back.

They’re friends and it’s wonderful. Spending time at each other’s places; meeting, without animosity this time, each other’s wizard friends; doing activities together, both publicly and privately. Oh, there was such a _scandal_ , perpetuated by _The Daily Prophet,_ when they were first spotted together out in wizarding London. Draco has earned his respect, but people quickly forget such things when there’s gossip to be had.

But they got over it. Harry and Draco refused to be cowed by wagging tongues and the public eventually got used to it. Their collective friends were a harder sell, but they, too, acclimated to what had quickly become an inseparable pair.

_December 25, 2013, earlier_

Harry laughs at something Mr. Weasley said. George shows his latest Wheeze to Dean Thomas, Ginny’s husband. Mrs. Weasley is in the kitchen, preparing dessert after stuffing them all with Christmas dinner. The collective Weasley children run around screaming all over the Burrow.

It’s a great party. This is his family. Harry loves them. But he can’t deny the tug in his gut telling him to go. He has to get to the corner; their time is approaching. Draco may be waiting this year. Soon. He’ll go soon.

Hermione catches him glancing at the clock, the door. Her face turns to pity, though Harry can see she tries to make it do something else.

“Harry, don’t,” she says. “You know he won’t be there. He never is. There’s no sense in you waiting anymore. He’s not coming back.”

Harry hears her. He does. He’s still going. This may be the year. They’d promised each other.

_April 2007_

Harry finds Draco in his home lab where he’s reading a Potions text and throws his arms over Draco’s shoulders, moulding himself to Draco’s back. Draco ignores him, turning a page of his text.

Harry is more physically affectionate with Draco than he is with any of his other friends. He certainly has no problem hugging his other friends, but he’s never lounged himself bodily across them as he does Draco. It’s raised more than a few eyebrows among their friends, but it’s comfortable for them. Draco will likewise use Harry as a piece of furniture, kicking his feet up in Harry’s lap if they’re on the couch watching the telly or reading silently or to each other. He’s not averse to laying his head on Harry’s shoulder or even in his lap, falling asleep on both on more than one occasion.

“Taking a break from your tinkering, Potter?” Draco asks eventually, making a note in a pad beside him.

“Letting the glass cool,” Harry responds, setting his chin atop Draco’s head. He’s glassblowing again today. Ginny wants him to make her a piece and what does Harry have but time on his hands?

“Hmm,” Draco hums, and turns another page.

Harry had let himself into Draco’s flat. They exchanged keys a month or so ago, and keyed each other into their wards. They were at each other’s places so frequently; it was just easier this way. The only other people who had this kind of access to Harry’s house were Ron and Hermione.

“And what are you about for the rest of the day?” Harry enquires.

“Going through the rest of this text. We’re working on a potion for the Obliviate patients in the Janus Thickey. When it works, it’ll offer them a period of mental clarity. It’s no cure— _yet_ —but it’s more than what most of them have now.”

 _We_. Draco has a _team_. Harry gets so proud thinking of how far Draco has come.

“Hmm,” he hums in return, and releases Draco to take a seat on the opposite side of the room. Draco keeps an extra chair in this lab specifically for Harry. He’ll come over and sit silently with Draco if he needs to concentrate, or chat or tease him if he’s willing to split his attention. And Draco likewise has designated areas in Harry’s varying workshops.

“What are we doing for dinner tonight?” Harry asks.

“I thought I’d come over to yours and cook,” Draco answers absentmindedly.

Harry simply raises an eyebrow that Draco does not see, looking at his book as he is. The last time he’d cooked in Harry’s kitchen, they had to put out a small fire. Harry’s stove still hadn’t forgiven him. Draco may have immersed himself in the muggle world, but he was still no chef.

“And why aren’t we doing the cooking here?” Harry counters?

“Bapsy is here today and you know she never lets me near the kitchen when she’s present.”

Bapsy was a Malfoy house elf that split her time between Malfoy Manor with Draco’s parents and Draco’s flat. She was quite distressed when Draco left, thinking of her Young Master Draco on his own and without help for his cooking, cleaning, and caretaking. Draco managed fairly well on his own, and even better when Harry was the one actually doing the cooking, but Bapsy wouldn’t hear a word of it. They both found it easier to just let her get on with it.

“Sigh,” Harry says, articulating the word as well as the action. “If we must.”

_July 2007_

Harry watches Draco out of the corner of his eye. He has always acknowledged, in a detached, objective sort of way, that Draco is pretty. Like, incredibly so. But that had never _mattered_.

It matters now.

Harry can’t stop watching Draco when they’re together. Draco, with his attention to detail, is certain to have noticed by now, but he hasn’t said anything about it. Harry is not sure what to do about any of that.

_September 2007_

“Mate, you just need to admit that you like him,” Ron says to him.

“I mean, yeah, I like him. He’s one of my best friends,” Harry says back.

Ron gives him an unimpressed look. Since he’s become an Auror, his unimpressed looks have become themselves…well, quite impressive, ironically.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he counters.

Harry turns away, feeling the blush crawl up his neck and face.

“I’m not saying I like him. He’s still an arrogant git, too fastidious by far, has a humour drier than the Sahara, his house would be a mess—even with his pristine lab—if it wasn’t for Bapsy, and he remains an atrocious cook.”

“I’d be more apt to believe you if your smile wasn’t positively besotted right now,” Ron answers, deadpan.

Harry feels his cheeks colour further.

“I’m _not_ saying I like him.”

_October 2007_

“Dammit, I like him.”

Harry just left Draco’s company and he can’t even deny it to _himself_ anymore. He likes Draco. He _really_ likes Draco. He may more than like Draco, but he’s certainly not ready to admit to all that yet.

The pressing problem, of course, is that Draco does not like him back.

Right? Probably not. No, definitely not. Why in the world _would_ Draco like him back?

_November 2007_

“He definitely likes you back, Harry.”

Harry groans. He came to Hermione so she can talk some sense into him, hopefully talk him out of this ridiculous crush he’s harbouring for Draco. She is not doing that.

“Harry,” she scolds. If Harry thought Ron’s unimpressed look is something, it’s nothing compared to Hermione’s. She first learned it at least from their Hogwarts days, trying to wrangle Harry and Ron into some semblance of studious world-savers, and has only honed the skill in her motherhood, wrangling Harry’s five- and three-year old godchildren. “I know you’re not the most observant individual, but _surely_ you see how often Draco stares at you.”

Well that couldn’t be right. It was Harry who did the constant staring thing. He looked away whenever Draco caught him at it, afraid Draco would read his heart in his eyes and pull away from Harry because of it.

Hermione, in her infinite wisdom, read Harry’s mind, as usual.

“He wouldn’t stop being your friend just because you love him, Harry.” Harry’s head nearly explodes, hearing those words outside of his own heart. They hadn’t even taken shape in his head yet; he’d refused to let them. Damn Hermione for knowing him so well. “And it’s a moot point, anyway,” she continued, “Because _he likes you back_.”

Harry pauses to consider the notion that he hadn’t allowed to really form in his head before now. Draco might like him back. Hermione has always been his conscience and the better parts of his higher-brain functions. How often was she wrong? Not often. But could she be right about _this_?

_December 20, 2007_

Harry is going to find out. It’s been driving him round the bend, not knowing. He’s been mustering up his Gryffindor courage to just _ask_. Or blurt out his own feelings. Whichever comes out in the moment. But it’s never seemed like the right time. And despite what Hermione says, there remains the nagging fear that if Draco doesn’t return Harry’s feelings, he’ll withdraw.

Harry can’t have that. He’s almost sure he can’t risk it. But it’s almost just as bad, the not knowing.

_December 25, 2007_

They’re at the café, in their same spot as always. Draco thought it only fitting to come here, a year after they’d met again as if it were the first time. Nostalgic in a way, considering how far they’d come in just a year. They stay their customary three hours and as they walk back up the street toward where they can safely apparate, they reach their street corner, the one where they first bumped into each other last year.

Something clicks in Harry, some bell sounds, some voice shouts _Now. Do it now!_

Harry grabs Draco’s hand and pulls him to a stop. Draco looks at him and raises his eyebrows, the silent question clear. He doesn’t pull his hand away from Harry’s.

“I want to ask you if..,” Harry stammers. “No, no, I want to _tell you_ that I….er…that is to say….”

Draco cuts off Harry’s rambling by smiling slightly, putting his free hand to Harry’s face, and gently guiding it up to meet his own. When Draco kisses him, Harry experiences every cliché thing they spout about in the movies. Fireworks and melting to goo and sinking into the softest, most content warmth he’s every felt.

It is perfect. And something so perfect surely cannot last. Except it does. For minutes at a time. Them holding each other and kissing in the bitterly-cold December air. Harry doesn’t feel a thing but Draco.

When they finally break apart, too out of breath and ruffled to continue, Draco looks at him with such a light of happiness in his eyes. His smile is somehow both smug and fond as he says, “You idiot.” Then he kisses Harry again.

“We should come back here every year,” he says. “This is our spot, this and the café.”

“Yes,” Harry says, “definitely. We will.”

Draco smiles at him again and laces his fingers through Harry’s.

They will.

_December 25, 2013_

Harry leans against the light post at his back. He’s two hours into his at least 3-hour Draco wait when the barista from their café, Marissa, returns bearing another cup for him.

“Coffee this time,” she tells him.

He smiles at her as he takes the cup, grateful as ever.

“Thanks, Marissa.”

She returns his smile, then leans back on the opposite side of his pole. She tilts her head up to the sky, catching the softly falling snow on her tongue.

“How often are you going to do this?” she asks.

“As long as it takes,” he tells her.

_2008_

Dating Draco wasn’t wholly different from being best friends with Draco. They still lounge around together, still visit each other’s homes with a disturbing frequency, still laugh and tease each other, still argue over ridiculous things and forgive each other within minutes or days.

Except now, there’s kissing. Quite, quite a lot of it, actually. In so many varieties that Harry has lost count, but each of them is brilliant. And shagging. Really mustn’t forget the shagging. More than brilliant, that.

And Draco spends the night now, so Harry sees even more of him than before, and he barely thought that was possible.

Draco spends so much time over Harry’s house that many of his things have migrated there for convenience’s sake. By the middle of the year, they’re living together without any discussion on the subject taking place.

And it’s brilliant. So brilliant. Draco leaves his things all over the place and Harry refuses to allow Bapsy to come straighten up. A cup of tea on the front table. His Potions cloak thrown over a chair. Notes for the latest thing he’s working on scattered across the dining room table.

Harry really can’t imagine how his life could get better than this.

_March 2010_

Harry frowns at the clock again. He told Draco he had a surprise for him, told him to be home by 9:00pm. It is now 9:45pm and Draco is not here and sent no word. Harry glances at the candles he’d lit, that had long ago melted down. They burn low and pitiful on the table, beside the dinner Harry had prepared—all of Draco’s favourites—as a break from how much he’d been overworking himself lately. Harry guesses he’s still overworking himself.

At 10:30, Harry blows out the remaining snubs of the candles and goes to bed.

_May 2010_

Harry is surrounded by Weasley’s. He’s at the Burrow for Rose’s 8th birthday party, and Draco said he’d be here over two hours ago. Just finishing up something at the lab right quick, Harry’s arse. Harry glances angrily at the door, but makes sure to put on a smile whenever one of the kids catches his attention.

Draco _knows_ better than to do this to Rose, to skip this party of all the other events he’s been missing. Rose _loves_ Draco and absolutely noticed his absence right off. She was sad for a second, before one of her many cousins distracted her. But Harry can see that she, too, looks toward the door for Draco’s entrance more than once.

He never shows.

_August 2010_

Harry and Draco have had more than one screaming row lately. Draco has been absent more than he’s been present, or so it feels to Harry, and Harry really can’t understand how Draco doesn’t see that. Beyond barely being home in general, he’s missed events he specifically said he’d be at—weddings, birthday parties, group cinema days, dates with Harry. He doesn’t let Harry visit him at work anymore, says he’s a distraction and he needs to focus. He used to say that with a laugh, and now says it with a bite. Draco’s work keeps him so busy, he doesn’t even see he doesn’t care about anything else anymore, anyone else. Where does that leave Harry?

_November 1, 2010_

There’s a lot Harry can forgive. He prides himself on his good nature, in fact. But forgetting something so personal, so important to him, is beyond the pale. He doesn’t know if he can forgive this.

Last night, Harry had gone to visit his parents’ graves. He goes every year now, at least for a bit, and pays his respects. Draco was supposed to go with him last night, but got held up in the lab again. He sent an owl saying he was coming, head to the cemetery without him, he’d be there in a tick.

He was not. He came home after midnight, where Harry was curled up in bed after having cried himself into numbness, and approached Harry with his now patented contriteness, but Harry couldn’t hear any more. What was the point of apologies without changed behaviour? Today of all days?

Harry didn’t pretend to be asleep, but he stayed mute, refusing to even acknowledge Draco’s words. Draco’s apologies had eventually petered off and he’d slunk into the bed beside Harry in his own penitent silence. Harry was not moved.

Draco takes them to their café in repentance. They haven’t been in months and Draco thinks the nostalgia will brighten Harry’s mood. But Harry is in no mood to have his favour bought. He isn’t in any mood for anything of Draco’s unless it’s change. The staff notice the anger and awkwardness surrounding their table, and steer clear, even though they looked so excited to see them back here. Harry almost feels bad for them. Draco neglected them, too.

When they leave, and Draco wants to stop at their street corner, Harry snaps. He can’t take it anymore. The row is vicious and Harry shouts things he will later forget, though he will regret them all the same, but will remember every accusation Draco hurls at him right back—that Harry is _jealous_ that Draco is suddenly the one in the spotlight and Harry just misses his fame; that Harry doesn’t understand having a real job and being in demand because all he does is tinker with his fancies; that Harry has grown needy and Draco doesn’t have _time_ to cater to his dependency because now _he’s_ the one trying to save the world, one medicine at a time.

Harry is struck dumb by the accusations, but his pride flares hot and he screams at Draco, “Since you’re never home anyway, you might as well not even _live_ there anymore!”

And Draco, just as hot-headed as Harry when the mood strikes him, yells back, “ _Fine! I won’t!”_ and apparates on the spot. Luckily, the street had been clear, despite the loudness of their argument.

Harry takes a walk to cool his temper, but admits to himself that he’s more sad than angry. Draco’s accusations play in his head, and worry him. Were they true, even if Harry didn’t realize it? Harry didn’t know, and so went looking for his conscience to clarify it all for him.

Hermione listened calmly, though she did frown deeply at the accusations. She made Harry see Draco’s point-of-view without excusing his words, and verified that Harry’s own feelings were valid. Harry left feeling better, thinking they could hash this out if they just _talked_ for once.

But when Harry got home, all of Draco’s things were gone.

_December 1, 2010_

Harry read in a poem once, “Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly-- flames everywhere.” He can relate. His love woke his dragon and it was all flames, but they were gorgeous. The absolute light of Harry’s life. They brought protection and warmth and beauty to him. It was a flame Harry gladly let consume him.

But now, in the light of Draco’s absence, the flame turned Fiendfyre, destroying everything it touches. Harry had forgotten what life was like without Draco and he can’t say he’s a fan of it. His fancies bring him no amusement, and now he feels a shame from his tinkering, where it had before brought him joy.

The owl that came bearing news that Harry was no longer keyed to any Malfoy residence didn’t help, either.

_Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed._

_December 25, 2010_

Harry stands at their street corner. He knows it’s a long shot that Draco will show up, but he’s hopeful. They come here every year after a visit to the café. Share a quick kiss and a smile and go home to be together. Draco has not responded to any of Harry’s missives and he’s been denied visits to Draco’s lab, but Harry remains optimistic. Maybe the day will bring Draco that nostalgia he likes so much.

Harry waits for four hours before going home in despair.

_December 25, 2011_

Harry shuffles his feet as he stands at their corner again. He’s not sure why he’s here. Draco has not deigned to speak to him in over a year and anytime they see each other in passing, Draco ignores him. Harry has stopped trying to reach out. He can only bear so many unopened owled letters returned.

Marissa sees him standing there this year and brings him tea and company. They’ve always liked her.

Harry wants to tell Draco that he’s changed. He’s not such a layabout now, not so dependent. Harry has gotten more serious about his arts, has studied and improved his crafts. He sells pieces now, consistently. He donates the money to worthy causes, but he still makes it. He wants to tell Draco that Harry has more of his own things now; that he _wants_ Draco’s love and attention, rather than needs them.

He thinks this year is different, but his friends don’t. Hermione discouraged him from coming and Ron was back to calling Draco “the prick.” Harry didn’t blame them, but he couldn’t quite convince himself Draco would break their promise and just not show. He was still mad last year. This year will be different.

It wasn’t.

_December 25, 2012_

Harry is a bit drunk at the street corner this year. He took a little longer to convince himself to come. But come he did, though he got progressively sadder the longer he stood there and no Draco appeared. He was too drunk to properly cast a warming charm on himself and about froze his tits off. He left exactly at the three-hour mark that year.

_December 25, 2013_

Harry smiles at Marissa—a sad, hopeless thing. He knows he’s been a fool all these years. If Draco were coming, he’d have done so by now.

Harry glances at his watch. 3 hours on the dot. Harry sighs out something that feels like an ending and resolves that this will be the last year he comes. He can’t waste his life waiting on someone to love him back. If Draco ever wants to talk, he knows where to find Harry. _He_ was never removed from _Harry’s_ wards. But until then, this was a goodbye.

Harry turns to bid Marissa farewell, when his eyes wander off to the side and he freezes.

There stands Draco, looking nervous, and sad, and repentant.

Harry’s mouth works without sound for a minute. When he finds his voice, all he can say is,

“You came.”


End file.
